Erik's Secret Santa
by Arwythe
Summary: Erik thinks that Santa has forgiven him for last year's little faux pas.
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own Phantom of the Opera in any size shape or form, nor do I own any of its characters._

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**Chapter One**

_In which Erik prepares for Santa's visit, and learns a thing or two about something or other._

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_Dear Monsieur Claus,_

_It is time for your annual delivery of goods to my home. Below, please find the items that I require for the coming year. If they are delivered packaged in brightly colored paper again, a disaster beyond your imagination shall occur. _

_Here is a list of the items that you will leave for me:_

_**1. Several lengths of 180 lb. Test rope, suitable for hanging and garotting**_

_**2. One Insta-gro Rose Starter kit**_

_**3.Vlad Tepesh's Guide To Advanced Sneaking and Lurking, 7th Edition**_

_**4. One Blushing Bride wedding gown pattern. (Christine did not like wedding gown I made from the **_**_pattern you left last year. I trust that you will not make the same mistake again)._**

_**5. 100 yards of black ribbon**_

_**6. One black velvet opera cloak with razor blades set into the bottom hem, for swirling at people.**_

_**7. A case of Stay-Put Mask Adhesive For Sensitive Skin.**_

_**8. Rat poison**_

_**9. More rats**_

_**10.Subscription to "Little Lotte Comix"**_

_**In addition, if you wouldn't mind killing the Vicomte DeChagny for me while you're in Paris, you'd save me much time and inconvenience.**_

_**I will be expecting to find the above items at the foot of my coffin when I awake tomorrow. If I find that you have left one of those dreadful trees again, you will regret it.**_

_**-Your Obedient Servant,**_

_**O.G.**_

_**PS: Regarding the discussion we had last year: Rest assured that I will not leave a false chimney over my torture room's trapdoor this time.**_

* * *

Erik sealed the envelope with his usual festive skull insignia, and left it by the plate of cookies. He knew he should be going to sleep, but he was just too excited. Monsieur Claus was coming, and he didn't even have to be kidnapped! Well, there'd been some question about that last year, after the false chimney over the torture room trapdoor incident. Erik had found it quite amusing, but Monsieur Claus was quite put out about it. There was some talk about a "naughty list", and stockings full of coal, which sounded very painful to Erik. But, after he offered his Red Death outfit as a replacement for the man's charred clothing, and gave him a large sum of money to replace the Elks, or whatever the old man's pets had been, Monsieur Claus seem mollified. Erik let the man go after he promised to return the following year. 

And now it was Christmas Eve, again! He sat, tapping his foot, and drumming his fingers. He really should go to sleep. He should. After all, Monsieur Claus was coming. He was coming tonight….he really should go…to…

Erik sighed and struggled with his conscience. It was not a long struggle, as you might imagine, because he quickly remembered that he didn't have one. Having gotten that sorted out, he arose from his armchair, and went over to the closet. It took him awhile, but he found it, tucked way in back next to his Roly-Poly-Raoul Punching Bag. He hauled it out, and dusted it off. He smiled in satisfaction. It looked pretty realistic for a papier mache chimney, if he did say so himself, and it fit perfectly over the trapdoor….

* * *

Later, with the chimney in place, and the cookies all eaten, Erik sat waiting for Monsieur Claus. The hours crept by slowly, and the lair remained silent. Erik's eyes began to close, and his head nodded gently. Suddenly he was awakened by a huge crash and a thud from inside of the torture chamber. Monsieur Clause had come! Erik smiled delightedly, and settled back to wait for the fun to begin. 

His smile faded as the minutes slid by. There was no sound at all coming from the torture chamber, and he began to wonder what was going on in there. He was about to get up to investigate, when strange blue energy crackled around the torture room doorway. Erik scrabbled over the back of the chair, and hid behind it. As he did, the chamber's door blew off of its hinges and went sailing across the room. _Maybe next year I shouldn't use the false chimney_, he thought.

He heard nothing from the torture room for a few moments, and then there were heavy footsteps, and "_Khooh-khee, Khooh-khee!" _

Erik didn't think this sounded very much like Monsieur Claus, and he was right. What emerged from the smoking torture room doorway was nothing like the gentleman he'd met last year. This one was taller than Erik. He wore black shiny boots like Monsieur Claus, but the resemblance stopped there. He was clad in black, wore a quite fashionable black cloak, and had a big shiny black head. It was the strangest head Erik had ever seen, and he wanted it to go away. Out snaked the Punjab lasso, and it whipped toward the big black Not-Monsieur-Claus creature.

The Thing raised one hand, and the noose halted in mid-air. It made a lightening swift U-turn, and hurtled back toward Erik, settling around his neck. Erik screamed and frantically flung the rope from its resting place. The Thing lifted his hand again, this time toward the torture chamber, and a large sack, filled with gaily wrapped presents came floating through the door. It hovered for a few moments, and then plunked to the floor at the Thing's feet.

The Thing-With-the-Black-Shiny-Head, turned toward Erik as though noticing him for the first time.

"_Erik",_ it said_, "I am youah Santah"  
_

"_No-o-o-o-o!"_ Screamed Erik_, "It's not possible!"_


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera in any size, shape or form, or any of its characters either. I don't own Santa Claus or Darth Vader. I don't really own my car either, as I'm still making payments on it.

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**Chapter Two**

_In which Erik gets several tastes of his own medicine, and he and his strange companion set out on quest of sorts_

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_Later that evening….._

Eric dragged himself from the lake and removed the sodden underdrawers from his head. The voice control trick hadn't worked at all. On the contrary, it was obvious that the Creature's skills surpassed his own…as did his fencing skills. Erik glanced over at his lovely sword, now a puddle of melted steel rapidly cooling on the rug. The Evil Christmas Demon was idly burning dirty limericks about someone named Obi Wan on the lair's ceiling, seemingly unaware of the shivering, dripping Phantom. What kind of demonic sword was he wielding, anyway? The thing glowed an eerie red, and hummed unpleasantly as it cut new obscenities in to the stone.

Erik stared morosely at the scene. Intolerable! This was not how he'd envisioned spending Christmas Eve, and something must be done about it. He glowered menacingly at the Creature, but It was too busy chuckling over its own cleverness to notice.

Slowly a plan began to form in Erik's head. It wasn't much of a plan, but given the fact that he was still recovering from a pretty powerful mind trick, it wasn't too bad, either. A maniacal gleam entered his eyes as he melted into the shadows and stealthily advanced toward the preoccupied Thing. A furtive movement of his hand brought the Punjab Lasso from its hiding place. This time he'd catch The Evil Santa Demon off guard, and he'd kill It. Christmas was so much fun!

The lasso hissed through the air, and settled around the Creature's neck. Erik snapped the rope taut, and pulled for all he was worth. Suddenly, an invisible vise clamped painfully around his throat, cutting off his air supply. "_Agck! Ghck_!" , he choked, as he found himself suspended three feet off the ground, eye to eye with the Evil Santa Demon. "_Khooh-Kheeh, Khooh-Kheeh_", went the Demon. "_Grikkh, Ackk_!" choked Erik. Erik shot backward a distance, and was plopped into the armchair. He coughed and spluttered as the vise-like feeling abruptly ceased.

"_We will now commence with traditional Holiday festivities_", The Evil-Christmas-Demon intoned. "_Emprah Claus was very insistent that we sing Christmas Carols!"_

Erik didn't know any Christmas Carols, but decided that this was not a good time to say so. Instead he used his amazing talents as a composer, and made up a cheery little number about Vicomtes roasting on an open fire, and Raouls hanging from a tree. He thought it was pretty good for such short notice, but it did not fool the Creature one little bit. It grumbled so much that Erik finally suggested rather nastily that if he wanted Carols perhaps he should sing one himself.

The Thing abashedly confessed that he didn't know any either, and then demanded that they find some one who did…who did Erik know who could sing jolly Christmas songs? Erik remarked sourly that he rather hoped he knew no one who could do that. The Creature concentrated for a moment…"…_Christine! Your emotions betray you, Erik! If you do not sing Christmas Carols, perhaps **she** will!"_

"_Damn_", thought Erik, "_How does he **do** that?"_

'_Who is this Christine, and where may we find her?" _asked the Evil Christmas Demon

"_She's my fiancé", _snapped Erik, "_And she's at home with her husband. Where else would she be on Christmas Eve?"_

"_Hmm…I see…." _Said the Creature, although he really didn't_. "And where is their home?"_

"_How should **I** know? They never ask me over."_

"_Then who do you know who knows where they live? ...Hmmm_**…..Madame Giry! **_Your emotions betray you, Erik! If you**……**"_

"_**Will you stop that**?" Screamed Erik, "It drives me crazy!"_

"_We will visit Madame Giry."_

"_No we won't! You do not know what that woman is like on Christmas Eve!"_

The words hadn't left his lips before the Creature had them both in Erik's boat, which seemed to be leaving the shore under its own power.

"_Take me to Madame Giry!"_

"_Never!"_

"_You want to take me to Madame Giry."_

"_Uh…I want to take you to Madame Giry."_

"_You wish to go to Christine's house."_

"_I wish to go to Christine's house."_

"_You will sing Christmas Carols"_

"_I will sing Christmas Carols."_

"_You are a great big girly."_

"_I am a great big girly."_

"_You squawk like a chicken."_

"_I squawk like a chicken…awk…buckbuckbuck"._

The Creature _khookheehed_ in satisfaction. Damn, being the Dark Lord of the North Pole was fun!


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I don't own POTO, nor any of the characters I'm being so mean to_.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

_In which Madame Giry reveals the true meaning of Christmas, and Erik becomes the third wheel, as usual._

* * *

Madame Giry finished her glass of brandy. Monsieurs Firman and Andre sent her a case of the stuff every Christmas, bless their wretched little hearts. "Regardez, Meg! I shall now do a lively Christmas dance!"

"No, No, Mother! Don't……"

Madame Giry bobbled around on the tips of her toes, and toppled into the Christmas tree.

"Hoopla! Prenez garde, Monsieur Arbre De Noël !"

Meg gazed disgustedly at the pair of legs protruding from the remains of their Christmas tree. "That's it, Mother! I'm going over to Christine and Raoul's. At least they have a nice _norma_l Christmas Eve!".

"That's nice, Dear", came a muffled voice from the tree. "Before you go would you mind getting me another brandy?

Meg slipped on her cloak, and turned at the doorway. "You've had quite enough brandy already, Mother! Just look at this mess! Why don't you go to bed and sleep it off?"

A shoe came sailing through the air, and bounced violently off of Meg's head. Meg yelped "Ouch!", and dashed out of the door, slamming it behind her."

"Go ahead, Enfant Stupide! Go to your idiot friends! Have a good time while your poor mother dies of thirst!" Shrieked Madame Giry, struggling to get to her feet.

As she tumbled over for the third time, the ceiling suddenly caught her attention. "Zut Allors! I have forgotten the mistletoe!" She up righted herself, poured a brandy, and staggered off to get the stepladder. Every inch of the ceiling must be covered. She couldn't miss a spot! No one was crazy enough to visit Madame Giry on Christmas Eve, but she knew that someone would, sooner or later.

Gathering . mistletoe, hammer and nails, she climbed the ladder. This would be easy she thought, as she took a couple of swings with the hammer, lost her balance and fell. Well, maybe not, she thought. She poured herself another brandy to steady herself, and Allez Oop! Up the ladder she went again, singing a jolly song that made no sense at all.

* * *

Meanwhile, Erik and his unwanted companion had entered the opera house and were standing outside of Madame Giry's rooms. They were greeted by sounds of a rhythmic thumping and incoherent singing, punctuated by loud crashes.

"What in the world is going on in there?" The Evil Santa Demon wondered aloud.

"Madame Giry must be hanging mistletoe again", said Erik, as he opened the door. "She _loves_ mistletoe. _Remember_, Monsieur, keep your hand at the level of your eye."

"Why?"

"You'll find out soon enough……aughhhhh!" Erik crumpled to the floor as something quite large and heavy landed on top of him.

"Merde!" yelled Madame Giry, as she pounded on Erik's head in frustration. "The stupid step ladder will not hold still! Now I must go and get another brandy! Stupid, stupid ladder!"

She was half-way to the kitchen before she noticed her guests. "Erik!" she screeched, "You have finally come to visit me! How long has it been since you were here on Christmas Eve?"

"Not long enough," grumbled Erik, as he got to his feet and cautiously put a hand at the level of his eye.

"Oh, but you are standing under mistletoe, Erik! You know what _that_ means!"

"That I get to kill you?" Erik guessed hopefully.

"No, Silly Boy! It means I get to kiss….hey, put your hand down so I can kiss you1"

"No!" Erik lurched back crashing into the Creature, as Madame Giry attempted to rip his hand off. "Ow-w! Ow-w! Stop that! You're breaking my wrist!"

Madame Giry remembered that she had a carving knife in the kitchen. That would take care of Erik's hand, and she could get another brandy while she was at it. Before she could act on the idea, though, she noticed Erik's companion.

"Ooh La La!" she gushed, "And who is this tall dark handsome gentleman?"

The Creature looked around in confusion. Perhaps there was someone else here that he couldn't see. After all, he'd been called tall and dark many times, but the words _handsome_ and _gentleman_ had never come up in reference to him. She was looking straight at him, however….he breathed deeply and took a chance.

"I am Darth Vader, Madame. I am Dark Lord of the North Pole".

"O-o-o-h, an aristocrat! I _knew_ it!" She bubbled. "Welcome Lord Vader!"

"You may call me Darth, Madame." The Creature glared at Erik. "_You_ may call me Lord Vader."

Erik glared back and told the Creature all of the names he was prepared to call him. They all involved very colorful profanity, and none of them included the words _Lord_ or _Vader. _They fell into a heated discussion over this, and never noticed as Madame Giry climbed up the step ladder and leaned over toward the Creature. She managed to plant a loud messy kiss on his helmet before pitching forward and landing in on her head.

Vader was charmed. Many people had fallen at his feet, but no one had ever kissed him first.

"What an enchanting woman," he whispered to Erik.

Erik's stomach suddenly felt very queasy.

Madame Giry rose to her feet, and clapped her hands. "Come, sit down by the tree, and I will bring us some refreshment! " She wobbled out of the room, leaving the two men to find seats in front ofa pile of pine needles, broken branches and smashed ornaments.

"So, um, how did you come to be _my_ Santa?" Erik asked bitterly.

"Well, after my previous employah uh….um_….retired_, and my son destroyed the Death Stah again, I found it prudent to seek other employment. Emprah Claus was looking for Elves, but I did not meet the height requiahment. I almost left, but he suddenly remembered that he had a special _client _who requiahed a Santah of my particular ah…._talents. _His words were exactly: 'I need some one to fix that Phantom bastard's wagon'. Emprah Claus seems to dislike you, you know."

Erik sat trying to think of why Monsieur Claus would be so upset with him, but nothing came to mind. He'd been good all year…well, at least he hadn't been as bad as he could have been. Maybe…his thoughts were interrupted by Madame Giry who had reentered the room, dragging the case of brandy behind her.

She plopped down next to Vader, and produced two straws. "Here, Monsieur Darth, we will share a bottle."

"And I suppose I will not be offered any?" Erik enquired indignantly.

"Shut up Erik", yelled Madame Giry... "You'll have to excuse his manners", she explained with a loud belch to Vader, "What else would you expect from someone who lives in a lair?"

Three bottles later, and not a drop for him, Erik grew impatient. "Aren't we supposed to be asking directions to Christine's house?"

"Christine's house?" Squealed Madame Giry, "Are we going to Christine's?"

"Lord Vader and I are going to Christine's house, Madame. You are not invited".

"Oh," wailed Madame Giry, "But my dear, darling daughter is there! Would you be so cruel as to separate a mother and her stupid tramp of a child on Christmas Eve? Monsieur, you are heartless!" She collapsed onto Vader's lap alternately sobbing, hiccupping and belching.

"There, There" soothed Vader helplessly as he patted her shoulder. "Really, Erik, we must take her along. Can't you see her poor heart is breaking?"

Erik observed viciously that he couldn't see anything of the kind. He could see she wasdisgustingly drunk, and in no condition to go anywhere.

"Oh, do you see how mean he is to me?" whined Madame Giry. "And I saved him from the wolves, too!"

"They were _gypsies, _you idiot.", snapped Erik.

"Do you see how he talks to me, Darth?" moaned Madame Giry, "After I let him wear my ballet outfit, and make-up, and everything?"

Vader turned and stared at Erik.

"You never….I never…." sputtered Erik, "She's drunk! She doesn't know what she's talking about!"

"You will not make this woman suffah any longah," commanded Vader. "She is coming with us".

"No! I will not allow it!" hissed Erik.

"You want Madame Giry to accompany us".

"No, I……Yes. I want Madame Giry to accompany us".

"You are begging her to come."

"…begging her to come."

"Hurry up, now, let's go!"

"Hurry up, now, let's go!"

Erik heard a door open, and looked up to see Vader and Madame Giry disappearing down the opera house corridor, arm and arm.

"Erik" called Vader, "Bring the brandy along, like a nice fellow, will you?"

"Merde!", Spat Erik.


	4. Chapter 4

_I do not own The Panthom of the Opera or any of its characters._

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**Final Chapter**

_In which the authoress hastily concludes the story because Christmas Eve stories should end on Christmas Eve._

**

* * *

_Still later that evening:_**

Neither Erik or Vader knew where the DeChagny's lived, and Madame Giry had forgotten, or at least that's what she was claiming. The search was not going well. Madame Giry had identified several buildings as being the home of Raoul and Christine, but in each case they had turned out to be taverns. It was devilishly difficult to get her out of a tavern once she'd gotten into one, Erik found. It didn't help that Vader seemed to have developed a taste for brandy as well, and liked to sit at the bar telling old boring Clone War stories.

Now they were hovering above the city of Paris, engaged in a heated argument.

"It is _too_ as sleigh!" Vader insisted.

"It is not!" Sneered Erik.

"Is."

"Not"

"Is!"

"Not!"

"Well," grumbled Vader, "I suppose it's _technically_ a Tiberian Shuttle, but we painted it red, and put some rathah festive bells on it, so……."

"Nonetheless, Monsieur, it cannot be considered a sleigh…it is not even drawn by eight tiny elk…."

"_Reindeer_!" interrupted Vader. "And you ah distracting me! I am using the powah of the force to locate the DeChagny residence!"

"That's ridiculous," Erik said.

"Youh lack of faith disturbs me, Erik….ah! You see? My powahs have detected the presence of the DeChagny home!"

Directly below them stood a large manor house. On its roof was an enormous revolving sign. "**DeChagny**" it read in bright flashing lights.

"Oh, Darth", burbled Madame Giry, "How _ever_ did you do that?"

Erik snorted in disgust and asked "Do you suppose you are sober enough to land this uh, _sleigh_ without killing us?"

It was apparent from the way Vader glared at him, that if anyone was going to be killed within the next few moments, it would be Erik. Erik wisely melted back into his seat, and pretended to examine the control panel.

Vader turned his attention on Madame Giry "The landing area is small, and descent must be accomplished with delicacy," he explained, "I must concentrate, now".

"But of course, Cherie," giggled Madame Giry, as she sat down on the control panel, depressing several critical buttons with her derriere.

The shuttle…um…sleigh jigged up and down a few times, and then dropped like a rock. It landed with a crash on the manor house's roof, knocking the "n" and the "y" from the flashing sign. The sign now read "**DeChag**". Erik liked it much better that way.

The next problem was how to get off of the roof, and into the house. Erik wanted them to slide down a rope and stealthily enter through the basement window. Vader wanted to levitate them all down, and blast open the door with the power of the force. Madame Giry ended the debate by falling down the chimney. With no other plan, the two men followed suit.

* * *

Christine was putting the last of the hearts and angels and bows on the tree, when she heard the large crash from above. She looked over at Raoul who was kneeling in front of the fireplace. 

"Raoully-poo", she said sweetly, "Perhaps you'd better start the fire later. I think Santa is here!"

"As you wish, my little Squishy Cakes," smiled Raoul as he blew her a kiss.

Suddenly muffled shrieks came from the chimney, and a dense cloud of soot rose into the air, settling over Raoul.

"Mush Muffin, I _told _you we should have had the chimney cleaned," Christine sighed. They both stared in surprise as Madame Giry dropped into their fireplace.

"Hoopla and Merry Christmas!", whooped Madame Giry, as she rolled across the floor. Raoul was just helping her to her feet when another figure emerged from the fireplace. Raoul put a pretty little scowl on his face. It was Erik! How dare he! He reached for the poker, ready to duel. Before he could utter his challenge, a brick fell from the chimney, and one more person appeared in the fireplace. This one was tall, dressed in black, had a cape and wore a mask…what the? _Erik's already here, so who the devil is this? _

As if reading his mind, the black clad entity spoke to him. "Ah you Christine? Do you know any Christmas Carols?"

"Don't mind him," said Erik. "He's drunk".

"And who the Hell _is_ he?"

"Oh, Monsieur, he is Erik's Santa!", hiccupped Madame Giry.

"Hah! It figures," giggled Raoul.

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean, Monsieur **DeChag**?" asked Erik indignantly.

"Monsieur _who?"_

"Never mind, you'll find out", snickered Erik.

Christine hesitantly approached the tall black clad figure. "I am Christine, Monsieur", she said timidly.

"_Khooh-Keeh, Khooh-Keeh_…..Christine, I am youah fathah!"

"Daddeeeeeeeeeee!"

"Darth, you devil! You never said you had a daughter….how sweet!" Madame Giry gushed, "Why she looks just like you, too! Does she drink brandy? Does she have any?"

"He's not your…ow! Stop that!" Erik yelled, as Raoul poked him in the eye with a candy cane. He quickly grabbed another from the candy jar, an jabbed Raoul in the solar plexus with it. "Have at you, Demon!" Shrieked Raoul, and made a feint toward Erik's ear.

This is the scene which greeted Meg as she returned from the kitchen with more hot cocoa-coca. Erik and Raoul were engaged in a deadly candy-cane duel, Christine was hugging a huge sooty man. ( At least she thought it was a man…it was hard to tell with that black shiny thing on its head.) Her mother…what was her mother doing here? Her mother was happily draining a bottle of brandy, and opening all of the presents under the DeChagny's tree.

"Stop this! Stop this at once!", she cried. It's Christmas Eve! Can't we all behave like adults? Everyone paused and looked at her abashedly, except for Erik, who took the opportunity to poke Raoul again.

"Ow! Stop that!"

Meg directed her glare at Eric, who dropped the candy-cane and stepped away, trying to look innocent. You can imagine how successful he was.

"Will someone _please_ tell me what is going on here?" She asked, knowing already that no matter what kind of answer she got, it wasn't going to make any sense.

"Meg!" Cried Christine, "This is my father! He came back from Heaven so I could teach him Christmas Carols."

"Christine!" Yelled Raoul, "That _thing _is not your…..oof!" Erik tripped the Vicomte, and snickered wickedly as Raoul crashed to the floor hitting his head on an end table.

"Oooh! Look at this!" Squealed Madame Giry, I got a bottle _of Eau De Fop Aftershave Lotion!"_

"Madame Giry" Christine said sharply, "That aftershave isn't for you, it's for….." It was to late. Madame Giry had already drunk the bottle dry.

"Oh, this is disgusting! And to think you would all behave this way on Christmas Eve!", said Meg.

Well, to make a long story even longer, everyone (except Raoul who was unconscious), agreed that Meg just didn't seem to have the proper Christmas spirit. So in the spirit of giving, Erik donated his Punjab lasso, and they hogtied her and locked her in the closet. She yelled and hollered for a while, but everyone was having such a good time singing the Christmas Carols which Christine taught them, and opening the rest of Raoul's presents, that no one heard her. Some one finally noticed the inert Raoul, and they felt a little guilty that he wasn't having fun, too. So, they dressed him up in an elf costume, carried him outside and propped him up against a street lamp. Needless to say, when he woke up the next day, he was one confused Vicomte. Madame Giry remembered the case of brandy she'd left in the shuttle. She and Vader left to get it, and reappeared hours later holding hands. Erik didn't want to think about it.

Everyone agreed this had been the best Christmas Eve ever.

"I got my father back!" explained Christine, who is unfortunately a rather dim bulb.

"How does _'Madame Vader, Dark Lady of the North Pole_ sound to everyone?" Asked Madame Giry. Behind his mask, Vader blushed and khooh-keehed softly.

Erik said nothing, but smiled happily. He'd gotten rid of the Vicomte, at least temporarily, and had spent time with Christine. She hadn't even screamed or fainted.

Vader was satisfied that his first assignment had gone well. Surely Emperor Santa would be pleased. He strode over to the fireplace and beckoned to Madame Giry to join him there. She walked unsteadily to his side, and he made a slight gesture. Up the chimney they rose, unnoticed by the occupants of the room. The shuttle engines came to life, the craft gently rose from the rooftop, and headed north.

Shortly after their departure, Erik excused himself, and headed back to his lair. It was going to be a long walk, but he didn't mind. As he passed the elf who was leaning against the lamppost, unconscious, he even wished him a Merry Christmas before he kicked him.

And that dear readers is the end of the story. It has to be, as it is Christmas Eve, and Christmas Stories should never continue until Easter. Have a very merry Christmas, and may your Santa be very, very good to you!

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End file.
